Flowers on Main

“You want me to become a waterman?” he asked incredulously. It was a hard, demanding life, especially with the impact that farming and other human misdeeds were having on fish, crabs and oysters in the bay’s waters, to say nothing of what skyrocketing fuel costs had done to profit margins.
“Not exactly. I want you to take people out on your boat to fish.”
He gave her a wry look. “The only boat I currently own is barely big enough for me and one passenger, and I wind up rowing home more often than not because the motor’s unreliable.”

Will, who’d clearly passed his limit of two beers, blinked owlishly.

Bree was finally able to work in the little nook that was going to be her office in the shop. The construction had been completed, the coolers installed and Mick had almost finished painting everything in a rich dark blue with white accents. She had to stick her head outside every now and then to get away from the paint fumes, but she was getting more and more excited as her opening day approached. Tomorrow the bulk of her supplies were due to arrive and the paint would be dry enough that she’d be able to unpack them and slip them into their designated nooks and crannies.
Just as she sat back, a smile on her lips as she contemplated the way everything was coming together, the front door opened and her sisters sailed in. She recognized the expressions on their faces, too. They were on a mission.

“I’ll see that you get your first delivery before nine o’clock that Friday morning. I’ll need to know what you want on the Monday before, earlier if there’s something that has to come from another grower. Connie will see that you have a list each week of what’s available. If you need deliveries more than once a week, we’ll adjust the schedule. Or you can come by here to get what you need to fill in.”
“Thank you.”

After her uncomfortable—okay, awful—confrontation with Jake, Bree sat in an Adirondack chair on the front porch, her feet propped up on a post, a notebook in her lap. She was making a list, something that was more like Abby than her.

Oh, they’d gone through the pretense of staying in touch at first, even occasionally talking about the future, but it had quickly been clear to Bree that the relationship was over. She’d struggled for weeks trying to think of the kindest way to say that to Jake.
In the end, he’d figured it out for himself after surprising her in Chicago one weekend and discovering her sequestered in her tiny apartment with Marty. There’d been nothing going on, but obviously Jake had felt the chemistry between her and the famed playwright. Ironically he’d known before she had admitted it to herself that she was falling in love with the charming, charismatic older man.